


A Permanent Change

by manycoloureddays



Series: A Permanent Reminder [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen, Modern AU, Tattoo AU, or more accurately present day au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manycoloureddays/pseuds/manycoloureddays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No milkshakes tonight.” His face fell, and as tragic as it was, Clarke stood her ground. “We’re doing something stupid and reckless and completely against all of Abigail Griffin’s no nonsense rules.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Permanent Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackravenswing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackravenswing/gifts).



> this all started when i casually mentioned how incredible tattoo artist!Clarke would be. and because i never ever do things by halves this is a prequel to the story i have not yet finished writing. 
> 
> i would like to dedicate this to hannah, who helped create this 'verse, and so has joint custody. thank you so much for your patience and unfailing ability to listen as i yammer on about these characters and this show, and to give as good as you get! ♥

_“It was_ your _fault. It was_ your _fault.”_

_“No Clarke. Honey, please.”_

                In retrospect slamming the door in her mum’s face and storming off down the street sans handbag was not the best course of action. But Clarke could make do without her keys, and wallet.  She just wasn’t sure she could cope with continuing the conversation now playing on a loop in her head.

 

_“I heard what Kane said, Mum! You told them where he was! You let them arrest him!”_

_“Clarke honey...”_

_“Why’d you do it Mum? You know he was innocent.”_

                She had been heading back towards her apartment, but changed direction mid stride. Without her keys she had no hope of getting in tonight, and Wells was the only one who had a spare set. Only one she could face right now. She didn’t feel like being alone with her mother’s voice anyway.

 

                _“The evidence was compelling Clarke.”_

 _“The evidence was_ compelling? _”_

How had Abby Griffin fooled everyone into believing she was a distraught widow, remaining strong for her daughter when she was the reason her husband had died in a cell awaiting trial?

 

                _“Clarke please listen to me. Give me a chance to explain.”_

_“Like you listen to me? Dad was the one who listened. He was the one who supported me. You just refuse to hear anything that doesn’t fit with your world view.”_

                Clarke could not remember the last time she had made an important decision for herself. She’d wanted to go to a small art school on the other side of the country, but Abby had convinced her to go to a college closer to home. She had acquiesced on the condition she be allowed to choose what she was going to study, and yet she had ended up on a path to medicine, her mother gently influencing her decisions. Clarke hadn’t minded. She liked looking after people, liked using her hands, knew she could do well and make a difference. But it wasn’t her passion. Art had always been her passion, and Abby had pushed medicine anyway.  

               

                _“How do you live with yourself? Knowing he’d still be alive if you’d kept your mouth shut!”_

               

                Unable to stand her own thoughts any longer Clarke pulled out her phone and sent Wells a text. _Meet me outside. Bring your wallet._

                She only had to wait five minutes.

 

                “What’s up? I thought you were having dinner with your mum tonight- Clarke?” He looked down at what was suddenly an armful of his best friend. Clarke shrugged, hugging Wells tighter, sniffling into his jacket. “Hey, what happened?”

                “It was her Wells. It was mum. She led them right to him.” It was a testament to their friendship that he didn’t ask for further explanations, just dropped a kiss on her forehead before pulling her in closer. Clarke didn’t know how long they stood like that, but by the time Wells took a step backwards and studied her face she could no longer here her mother’s voice.

                “Alright?” She nodded. “Wanna talk about it?”

                “No.” He smiled at that. Of course he’d known the answer before he asked the question.

                “Wanna tell me what the wallet’s for?” His smile widened, and it was Clarke’ turn to know exactly what he was talking about.

                “No milkshakes tonight.” His face fell, and as tragically hilarious as it was, Clarke stood her ground. “We’re doing something stupid and reckless and completely against all of Abigail Griffin’s no nonsense rules.”

                “Okay, but what...” He trailed off when he noticed he no longer had her attention. Clarke’s eyes had been drawn across the street, to a bright red neon sign. _Tattoo Parlour_. Wells looked nervous. Clarke grinned. If Wells was nervous she was well on her way to doing something wild. And this was exactly what she needed she realised. She needed to do something wild and permanent. Something to mark the day, to remind her of what she had lost; what Abby had taken away. “Clarke.” Wells’ tone was warning. “Do you really think you’re in the best frame of mind to be doing something quite this, well, permanent?” She grinned up at him, and her smile was all teeth.

                “Yes Wells. I think I’m in the perfect frame of mind.” With that Clarke set off across the street. After a second Wells followed, and somehow (she blames her much shorter legs) ended up in front of her. Standing between Clarke and the front door Wells drew himself up to his full height. Something he very rarely did with her.

                “Clarke, please, just think about this for a second. I know you’re upset. Rightfully so. But is this really what you want? A permanent reminder inked onto your skin? How is that going to help you moving forward?”

                “Who said anything about moving forward?” She scoffed derisively. “ A permanent reminder sounds good though. Something to remind me of dad. Something to remind me why he died, without giving the information to anyone else.” Wells’ face darkened at that. Clarke felt sorry for him. She really did. The day Jake Griffin died in police custody she wasn’t the only one who lost a father. Sheriff Jaha had been the one to lock the cell door. Clarke would be forever grateful that Wells had chosen her. That his loyalty to her was somehow stronger than his loyalty to his father. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t above using that knowledge, that loyalty to get her way. “C’mon Wells. It’ll be like the secret codes we used when we were kids.” Smiling sweetly up at him, the same way she had when she used to convince him to go on secret missions, Clarke stepped around him and pushed open the door.  

 

                Once she was inside the seemingly empty shop Clarke’s confidence faltered. But she was Clarke Griffin, and if her dad could face down Mt Weather’s police department without faltering she could get a goddamn tattoo. Wells closed the door behind them, still muttering about ‘regrets’ and imploring her to ‘sleep on it’. In fact his muttering combined with Clarke’s shushing was loud enough to draw the man Clarke assumed to be the owner out from the back room. He was tall. He was really tall, and covered in tattoos – one of which was definitely found on all members of the Grounder’s gang – and Clarke was not faltering, she was absolutely not faltering.

                _Get it together girl, you’re a Griffin_. She stepped forward; putting her shoulders back, and offering a small smile. Wells moved with her, his hand hovering just behind her shoulder as if by pulling her out of the shop she would suddenly forget this idea.  

               

                “Can I help you?” The guy behind the counter seemed much less intimidating up close. He was only marginally taller than Wells, and his smile softened his features.

                “Hi, yes, um, my name’s Clarke” she paused shaking her head slightly, before continuing on slightly embarrassed. “I’d like to get a tattoo. I mean, I know that’s fairly obvious, but...” His smile shifted slightly, turning into a smirk.              

                “Yeah. Well you’re in the right place.” Clarke blushed. “Name’s Lincoln by the way. So Clarke, do you know what you want?” When she’d walked in the door Clarke had not had a satisfactory answer to that question, but as is so often the case, inspiration struck in the moment.

                “Yeah, I do,” her confident smile back on her face, Clarke looked at Wells, “I want a blue raven. Maybe with the letter B on it. Not sure about that part yet.” Lincoln nodded, but out of the corner of her eyes, Clarke saw Wells rolling his.

                “The Ravens’ logo Clarke? I really think if you sleep on it you’ll come up with something better. I’ll fully support a well thought out, meaningful tattoo, I promise. Just please, don’t get a football mascot.” Clarke narrowed her eyes, readying herself for a fight, but before she could get a word out Lincoln held up his hand.

                “I’m sorry, did you say Raven’s logo?” Clarke nodded. “Maybe you won’t listen to your friend here, but I have to say, I think he’s right.” For the first time since they’d crossed the road Wells smiled, gratified.

                “Why?”

                “Because it’s late, you look like you’ve been crying, and you want a Baltimore Raven’s mascot to be your first tattoo. Besides, you’re in here with someone who seems to know you and care about you, and he’s advising against it.” Clarke grimaced. Coming from a complete stranger it did sound a little unadvisable.

                “Well when you put it like that...” Wells groaned.

                “Of course you listen to the guy you’ve never met. Not that I’m complaining.” He finished quickly, recognising Clarke’s ‘oh you did not just say that’ face.

                “Okay then, not a raven. Do you have any designs I can look at?” Lincoln nodded and pulled one of several black binders from the shelf behind the counter.

                “Have a look at these and let me know if you find something you like.” He walked off towards the door. Wells and Clarke settled in on the couch by the front window, flicking through the pages of generic designs. But Clarke didn’t want something generic, she wanted something meaningful. A permanent reminder that while her dad had died for nothing, he had fought for something. A reminder that she now had the responsibility to do the same if she could.

                “Hey Lincoln,” she called out. Sticking his head round the door Lincoln looked at her questioningly. “You don’t have any original designs I could look at do you?” He smiled.

                “Yeah, let me grab my sketch book.”

 

                A quarter of an hour later Wells was playing Candy Crush while Clarke devoured Lincoln’s sketches. He was incredibly gifted. She had told him half a dozen times already, much to his apparent embarrassment.

                “I don’t get many people in here purely interested in the art,” he explains after receiving a confused look from both Clarke and Wells this time. “Usually it’s a generic tattoo, or if they do want something original it’s not art for art’s sake, you know?” Wells nods, but Clarke, Clarke lit up.

                “I know exactly what you mean.” Lincoln’s eyebrows shoot up at the excitement in her voice. But it has been so long since Clarke met someone who understood this. The need to express oneself creatively, but to also have it acknowledged, to have someone comment on it, appreciated it, understand it. The only person who’s ever come close is Wells. And even he doesn’t really understand it. He supports her art of course, encourages it, but he’s never _understood_ it. “I mean, I got into California College of the Arts, but my mum convinced me not to go. Said I should focus on getting a career.”

                “You draw,” Lincoln says, like it’s one of the most obvious facts in the world. Like he knew it straight away. Clarke nods eagerly.

                “She draws,” Wells adds; verbal confirmation. “You should see my notebooks from high school. Once she’d finished covering her own she started on mine. Not even the shopping list on my fridge has gotten away clean.” He’s smiling, and Clarke knows he finds it endearing, but it still makes her blush. _You and Wells were never very good at boundaries anyway,_ she tells herself.

                Lincoln pushes his sketchbook towards her, open on a blank page. “Draw me something.” Clarke doesn’t hesitate. Greedily taking the proffered pencil she begins to draw. She knows Wells and Lincoln are watching, Wells’ latest attempt to beat level 169 long forgotten, but they fade into the background. It’s been an excruciatingly long night. If she’s honest with herself it’s been an excruciatingly long year. But getting back to this, getting back to drawing, this is release. Its cathartic in a way a milkshake never could be, and familiar in a way that getting a tattoo just isn’t. When she’s finished she offers Lincoln his sketch book back. He is quiet for a moment. Clarke watches as he runs his fingers over the portrait; Jake Griffin smiling up at him. Then he nods once, to himself, before looking at her seriously.

                “I’m not going to give you a tattoo tonight.” Wells relaxes beside her, and Clarke nods once. “You have talent Clarke. If you really want a permanent change be here tomorrow at 9.” Clarke nods again. This time she’s smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> this is not the end. eventually i will finish the monster of an au that this precedes. this is my first time publishing so feedback is very much appreciated ♥


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